I’m going to send you something when I get back to the hotel. Watch it. All will reveal the mystery of your underwear. Consider it an educational viewing.Far out. My mouth waters at the prospect.
Then,I expect you’ll want to touch yourself at some point, run your fingers against that gorgeous ribbon of deep pink flesh. But not now, remember. Not until later. Not until I say.
I bite back the instinct to tell him he’s not around to police this request, but a promise is a promise. I stare at the phone a few more moments, almost forgetting to pull up my pants as I stumble before righting myself and leaving the gym with a definite spring in my step.
Looks like I’m not going to be bored this afternoon!
Patience is a virtue that will be rewarded in the end.
My phone buzzes with the incoming message, and I’m so excited I could quite literally burst.Burst in my knickers, probably.Anticipation certainly is the key. And rewards... I’m defo up for on any terms.
I stare at the phone on the kitchen bench. Does he want an answer? Some kind of affirmation? Another pic?
Get your iPad.
Well, that was a bit of an anti-climax.
On second thought, I don’t think he wants to play Candy Crush.
Take it to the bedroom.
Now that’s what I’m talking about, I think, as I take the travertine marble steps two at a time. No small thing for someone of my leg length.
When you get there, let down your hair.
Strip.
Do it slowly.
Do it as though I were there.
I can’t. Really, I can’t. I’m too bloody excited.Anticipation and exhilaration and plain, sheer lust swim through my veins as I set to work toeing off my running shoes, and quickly stripping off my sweatpants and T-shirt.
I expect you couldn’t wait.
Would’ve been different if you were here,I respond.
I know,comes his ominous reply.
There’s a box in the bottom drawer of my nightstand.No, there isn’t. I’ve already snooped. I’ve been through all the cupboards and drawers in the bedroom, not exactly snooping, just... okay, snooping. But I won’t tell him that.Take out its contents and lay them on the bed.
The room is cool, especially now that I’m bare, my nipples standing prominent, gooseflesh stippling my flesh. One arm across my chest, I bend to open the drawer, knowing already it’s emp—
Well, itwasempty, but now not so much. I pull out the box as directed, placing it on the bed. Excited, nervous and desirous, because, let’s face it, I’ve been the lucky recipient of Kai’s mystery gifts before.
As I lift the lid, I reflect on how lucky I am that this man is my husband; be it impromptu masturbation by toothbrush, or expensive sex toys, Kai has an innate sexual gift. I never really knew myself—not sexually. Not before meeting him. And since, well, I’ve been opened to a whole world of experiences, and somehow I know it’s only going to get better.
Inside is a small box, only slightly larger than that which would hold a ring. It makes me glance again at the gorgeous mega-rock I have on my left hand, while I wonder, sort of eagerly, if the box contains more nipple clamps. Setting it aside, deciding I’ll open it last, I pull out a coiled, black silk scarf. My mind immediately goes to a scarf of a similar kind; a scarf from a box, whose contents began my sexual unravelling.
A box that dared me. A scarf that hinted to my inner desires, urging me to be free as it read:
Welcome bondage, for thou art a way to liberty,
Like the first, this scarf contains a message in cream embroidery, though its message is a little obscure:
Action is eloquence.
Picking up my phone, I quickly type out my take.Deeds, not words?
